


When a Lovebird

by vanishinghitchhiker



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, mention of terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishinghitchhiker/pseuds/vanishinghitchhiker
Summary: “Hey, is that the missus?”“Yes,” said Braska. Then, because he felt a little bad about it, he looked back and gave a little wave. She didn't wave back, but they never did.“Nice set of...” Jecht gestured, roundly, but Braska just nodded. It wasn't inaccurate.





	When a Lovebird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freoduweard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freoduweard/gifts).



> Mouse over Al Bhed words for alt text translation! (There's like five words but I'm proud of my basic HTML skills all the same.)

“We’re not stopping here again, are we?” Crossing his arms, Jecht pulled a face at the entrance to Guadosalam as though it had personally offended him somehow. “Last time we was here I kept tripping on tree roots. I swear they were doing it on purpose.”

“Don't worry, they don't attack the sober,” said Auron, keeping a straight face until Jecht let out a loud cackle and slapped him on the back. It was good to see the two of them getting along—when they'd last been here, such familiar contact might have had Auron threatening Jecht with the prospect of pulling back a stump instead of his hand. Braska smiled at the thought.

“My lord?”

Auron must have noticed his expression, but Braska wasn't about to admit to thinking up tree puns. “It _is_ a bit late. Unless Jecht would rather spend the night in the Thunder Plains?”

Auron actually snickered out loud at that one.

* * *

“Why _did_ we stop here, anyway?” Jecht’s voice could be heard across the room, even though it was the largest the inn had to offer, even though he was trying to whisper as Braska performed his evening prayers. “Last time, I mean. You said there’s no temple here, right?”

Even a warrior monk’s prayers were no match for the elaborate ceremony of a pilgrim summoner’s, so Auron was on hand to answer. His voice was a lower murmur, however, and Braska’s thoughts were elsewhere, paying tribute to the Fayth of Valefor, _daughter of the shore and horizon, boundless sea and endless sky..._

“The Farplane? What, some kinda summoner thing?”

_...for we know when our burdens are heaviest, you shall bear us safely on your gentle wings..._

“The dead? Hang on, you're telling me—”

_...when what we seek cannot be found, let our hearts be guided by the purity of your song…_

There came an increase in volume (“—cht? Jecht, wait, where are you—”), heavy footfalls, the sound of the door. Braska opened his eyes.

“I couldn't stop him, my lord.” Whenever something happened that Auron didn't understand, he looked very young, somehow.

Braska had a sinking feeling he did understand. “We should follow him. Valefor won’t mind.”

* * *

When Braska caught up with Jecht at the Farplane, he was crouched on the ground, breathing heavily. “Just a little winded from all those stairs, y’know,” he muttered, head down. Braska pretended to believe him.

“What’s gotten into you?” Striding in a few seconds later, Auron had taken on that Something Has Minorly Inconvenienced Lord Braska tone. “Lord Braska was in the middle of his prayers!”

With a gentle, chiding pat to Auron’s shoulder, Braska knelt in front of Jecht. “Who were you looking for?” he asked quietly, curtailing any sort of Lord Braska Has Slightly Dirtied His Knees reaction.

“Doesn't matter, nobody’s here.” Still hidden by his hair, Jecht swiped an arm across his face. “Think I'm allergic to all these damn flowers, though.”

“I've heard of that happening,” Braska lied as he carefully unslung the sphere camera from around Jecht’s neck. “Would you like to take a sphere?”

Jecht scoffed, some of his usual bluster returning. “Here? Nah, what's there to see?”

“Hmm.” He wasn't certain whether he was agreeing or not. “Auron?”

“Yes, Lord Braska?” His voice had softened to match Braska’s own, at least.

“I think I may have left a lamp burning in our room...” It was the most transparent of excuses, but with a swift bow to camouflage a last, worried look at Jecht, Auron headed back to the inn.

Last time, though Auron had escorted him here, keeping a respectful distance, he hadn’t called on anyone himself. He’d been a ward of the temple as long as he could remember, he explained later. Braska wasn’t sure whether or not it was lonelier, not remembering anyone on the Farplane to visit.

He rose to his feet along with Jecht, but put a hand on his shoulder and steered him gently away from the exit. “How are the spheres coming along?”

“Uh, fine.” Jecht cleared his throat. “Yeah, been getting some good ones. Went over the shots from Luca the other day. Auron’s a born bootlegger, he was actually pretty good at following the action. Kid’ll love it.”

Nodding, Braska turned to face the view, keeping his expression a practiced sort of pleasantly neutral. “And your wife? If she's anything like mine she’ll find the Moonflow enchanting.” She’d been just as fascinated by the submerged ruins as she had the flowers, and the river at night, glittering like stars—

He blinked when he realized he was looking into a pair of green spirals. Ah. _Cunno, so muja, not right now._ Ignoring the pang as the image faded, Braska chanced a glance at Jecht. He was sitting down again, back against the low rock wall. “Jecht?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Braska turned to lean next to him, then reconsidered and slid down to the ground. Auron wasn’t here to worry about Lord Braska slightly dirtying his ass. “You've spoken of her less as we go on,” he prodded further.

“Haven't noticed.” There was an ugly bite to his voice, a challenge.

Stubborn fool. But so was Braska. “I know we hadn’t the gil left for souvenirs,” he tactfully avoided mentioning _why_ , “but Junie bought me this when we were there.” As he slipped the bracelet over his hand, he focused on the round, pale beads that caught the light like the glow of pyreflies, and the tiny ones in between that were the exact shade of moon lilies. It kept him from looking over his shoulder. _Cunno._ He thought of that word a lot, lately. “If you'd like a gift for her—”

“For fuck’s sake, Braska, don't give me your—!” Jarringly loud in the normally hushed Farplane, Jecht cut himself off with a growl. “You know I don't need it.”

“She isn't here.”

“Yet,” hissed Jecht sharply.

In the gulf of silence that followed, Braska slid his bracelet back on, and only felt a little guilty at his relief that Jecht hadn't called his bluff. “Then, she’s ill.” He kept the question out of his voice; there wouldn't be any point.

“It’s... a tricky one,” Jecht admitted at last. “Sneaks up on people. There’s no way to heal it, but sometimes it's slow. She could hold out for years.” Fidgeting, he glanced around, but there wasn't anything to see except behind them. “Hey, is that the missus?”

“Yes,” said Braska. Then, because he felt a little bad about it, he looked back and gave a little wave. She didn't wave back, but they never did.

“Nice set of...” Jecht gestured, roundly, but Braska just nodded. It wasn't inaccurate.

When Jecht saw he wasn't going to offend his way out of the conversation, he sighed and continued. “Or, hey, she could drop dead tomorrow.” Flopping a hand over, he blew a raspberry.

“Does your son know?”

“Nah, Mutya doesn't wanna tell him. And she don't want _me_ telling him either. Can't imagine why, he’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

“In Spira,” said Braska, “anywhere, really, I suppose... it’s a fact of life that you’ll lose the ones you love.”

“Knowin’ that help any?”

“Mm. No.”

They simply... sat together, for a spell. Finally, Jecht shifted to a cross-legged position to scratch his leg, then jerked a thumb toward the specter at their backs. “So, uh... what’d you say her name was?”

He was definitely changing the subject. Braska let him. Maybe he didn’t speak enough of his own wife, either. “Junie. Short for Junior.”

“Right, Junie.” If Jecht found the name unusual, he didn’t comment on it. “You two take a lot of trips together? What’d she think of this place?”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t have... Al Bhed don’t believe in the Farplane. They think this place works a bit like a sphere, playing people’s memories back to them.”

“Huh. So what do you think?”

“I think,” said Braska, hesitating to question her beliefs, or lack of them— or perhaps, his own. “It may not be truly her, and she may not have approved of my coming here to see this. But she is gone now, and...” he closed his eyes, not wanting to see her lack of reaction to his words. “It is a comfort, I think, to see her once more.

"And people always hope, someday, like in the stories, they might see the spirits smile.”

Shaking his head, Jecht couldn't quite keep the concern from seeping into his voice. “Sheesh, Braska, don’t you got any spheres of her?”

“Jecht, personal sphere recorders aren’t exactly... commonplace.” Though pyreflies’ natural power to preserve memories meant sphere cameras and monitors weren’t forbidden machina, Yevon made sure they were rare enough to avoid Sin’s potential ire. He doubted Jecht would appreciate the explanation, though. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how did you come by this one?”

Rolling his eyes, Jecht pulled the camera into his lap. “Ugh, Auron already asked me if I stole it, but I bought it, okay? Just, didn’t really realize it was that expensive.”

“Bought it with what?” asked Braska carefully.

“I mean, I knew I didn’t have the right money, right? So I went to find someplace to exchange it, and then this, this numa numa guy started going nuts over my gil, like absolutely freakin’ bonkers—”

“A... numismatist?” This was beginning to make a horrible amount of sense.

“Yeah, something kinky like that.” (Braska opened his mouth, then reconsidered. He... wasn’t going to touch that one.) “’Course, later on, he came back and started bitching they weren’t _old_ enough or whatever, trying to get his money back, cheap bastard.”

Braska blanched. “Jecht, were you arrested for _counterfeiting_?”

“Hey, I couldn’t spend that shit, so it’s more like forgery. Anyway, I bought the camera after I met you guys, remember? So actually, maybe I’m on the lam now, I don’t know. ...don’t tell Auron, you know how he gets.” Before Braska could properly react to all that, Jecht gestured to the camera, then behind them. “So, Yuna got a sphere of you, or is she gonna have to come here too someday and see you like this?”

Not speaking. Not smiling.

Braska drew in a sharp breath.

“I did bring her here, right after her mother died,” said Braska softly. Maybe he shouldn’t have—it had been more for his sake than hers, but there’d been no one to watch her. “Yuna cried. She kept screaming, ‘That’s not mama, that’s not mama.’” He turned the quaver in his voice into a chuckle. “People were scandalized. Probably thought I was raising a proper little heathen.”

“Shit, Braska—”

“I finally brought her back a few years later. It’s so close to Bevelle, I couldn’t stay away...” and he’d been thinking, more and more, about embarking on a pilgrimage. “This time, she asked me, ‘Is that really mama?’, so uncertain. I told her it was.” And again, maybe he shouldn’t have. “And she just looked up at, at this,” he waved a hand at the view, at this coalescence of pyreflies with no sign of emotion, no pretense of life at all, “and accepted it. And I realized, someday, she won’t remember anymore what her mother was really like. She’ll have only my word, and this pale imitation. She won’t remember how her own mother smiled, or laughed, or sang, or covered Yuna’s ears when she swore—”

“I like her,” said Jecht, with enough gusto to make himself heard over Braska’s voice, which had been creeping gradually upward in volume. “Wanna borrow the camera sometime?” He didn’t watch as Braska dried his eyes.

“Yes. I’ll have to think of what to say. What I... want her to remember.”

Jecht stood, offered him a hand up. “Just wing it, that’s what I do.”

“You’re still going home someday. You’ll have plenty of time to find the things you want to say.”

“...yeah.” Jecht was silent for a moment before he abruptly cleared his throat, scrubbed at his nose, and hoisted the sphere camera, thrusting it at Braska. “Here! I’ll show ya how it’s done.”

* * *

_“Hey, squirt. This here's the Farplane. I know, total dump, right? But listen, if ya— I mean, if you get here... Well look, your mom, if she’s, maybe she’ll— I, uh. Shit. Fuck! Shut it off, Br”_

* * *

The sphere ended with Jecht putting his hand over the lens. “We could record over it,” suggested Braska as he wiped the smudges away.

“Aah, I’ll come up with something and do it later. Don't want a bunch of creepy-ass dead people listening in.”

“That's my wife you're talking about,” said Braska, with wry good humor.

“I mean the ones we _can’t_ see.”

Braska glanced around, speculatively. He wasn’t entirely sure Jecht had gotten the right idea about the Farplane. But then again, who did?

“C’mon, let’s go,” Jecht said, slinging an arm around Braska’s shoulders. “A summoner’s gotta get a good night’s sleep, right?”

“You go on ahead,” said Braska. “I just...need a few more minutes.”

“What, so Auron can panic when I come back without you?” Jecht chuckled. “I’ll wait outside like a good little guardian, make sure you get back safe from those treacherous tree roots.”

“Don’t get ambushed,” said Braska as Jecht departed, and was rewarded with a laugh booming back up the stairs.

He looked, for one last time, upon the face of his wife. “I hope you can hear me,” he said, just in case she could. (If not, this would be the very last time.) “ _E muja oui._ ”

With... luck, he too would soon be suspended in time, alive only in memories. Together, they would never grow old, never see Yuna grow old. The odd-eyed seven-year-old left in Bevelle would be but a memory as well, growing into a woman they’d never meet.

In a world free from Sin, he reminded himself, then straightened his shoulders, took a breath. Time to go back and finish his prayers. And his pilgrimage.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta reader, jaclynhyde.


End file.
